


The Massage: A Touch of Love

by Mizmak



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Couch Cuddles, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Massage, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25750951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak
Summary: Post-canon:  Aziraphale still has worries about Heaven, and Crowley finds a special way to ease his anxiety.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 106





	The Massage: A Touch of Love

Crowley had been lounging on the sofa for far too long doing nothing at all, other than twiddling his thumbs impatiently while Aziraphale moved books from the wrong places (Adam’s doing) to the right places. A perfectly good bottle of Chauteauneuf-du-Pape sat on the coffee table, unopened, next to his long-discarded sunglasses.

He really didn’t like to see good wine sit around too long. It might get lonely.

From the direction of the bookshelves, he heard a series of unusual groans and grunts. Those were new. Up until now, Aziraphale’s obsessive rearrangement of the books had been blessedly quiet.

_Two hours of this nonsense_. Crowley checked his watch for the thirtieth time. _Why?_ His friend could have simply snapped his fingers, and all the books would have put themselves in their proper places. 

“I’m not certain that’s a good idea,” Aziraphale told him when he’d suggested it. 

“Why not?” Crowley wanted to crack open that bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape to continue their celebrations. The champagne from the Ritz was already wearing off.

“Well, it’s probably a silly worry, I’ll admit.” Aziraphale twisted his fingers together as he explained. “It’s better, I believe, not to draw any more attention than possible from—” He glanced upward. “You Know Who.”

Crowley sighed. “You told Hell to leave me alone. I told Heaven the same thing for you. They were terrified. It’s fine. Besides, we used a miracle to swap back our bodies, and you used one to get a reservation at the Ritz.”

“Yes, well, I was still feeling rather giddy then. But I’ve thought about it, and I’m worried that they’ll _notice_ any new miracles which I perform. What if they don’t like it because I’m no longer working for them?”

“They won’t pay any attention. They’re leaving us alone, so just relax.”

“I can’t! What if they found a way to take our powers away?”

Crowley shook his head. “Angel, you’re not making any sense. You don’t want to use miracles because you’re worried that Heaven will get pissed off about that, and somehow stop it. Right? So you don’t do them, out of worry that you won’t be able to do them. I mean, are you never going to snap up anything ever again? Then they wouldn’t _have_ to do anything to stop it!”

Aziraphale had frowned at that logical answer to his nonsensical worry. “Yes, but…oh, dear. I just don’t want to do anything so soon. Perhaps after we’ve been left alone a bit longer? I truly don’t want _anyone_ to wonder what we’re up to. I want to be sure that they truly _are_ ignoring us.”

“Fine, whatever.” Crowley waved away his friend’s unnecessary concerns. “Put all the books right by hand.” Then he had softened a little. “Can I help?”

“No, enjoy your rest, my dear. I know what needs doing.”

And so here he was, hours later, wondering if perhaps he ought to just start drinking the wine by himself, which he’d didn’t particularly want to do, while Aziraphale moaned and groaned. Well, moving so many books around had probably stretched a few muscles that his friend wasn’t used to stretching.

“Angel,” Crowley called out, “are you okay?”

“What? Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Crowley thrust himself off the sofa and sauntered over to the bookcase which Aziraphale was shoving heavy tomes into. The angel looked tired. He had taken off his coat, and even gone so far as to unbutton his vest. Beads of perspiration dotted his brow, his hair had gone slightly damp, and there was a flush on his cheeks. 

“Angel, give it a rest. You’re worn out. We’ve had a long day already. Not to mention the days before this.”

“It’s nearly done, though—only this last shelf to fill in.” He bent down to pick up a thick book from a pile on the floor, and when he straightened, he clutched at his back. “Ooh.”

“Here, let me.” Crowley took the book from Aziraphale’s sweaty hands and placed it on the shelf. “I’ll do the others. Go sit down.”

“But—”

Crowley grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him towards the sofa. “GO. SIT. DOWN.” He gave him a little shove.

“Really, my dear—” Aziraphale started to turn back, his lips pursed, but Crowley gave him a _look_ , and the angel gulped. Then he slowly ambled off, moaning and groaning all the way.

_Honestly_. Crowley spent a few minutes putting the pile of books onto the last empty shelf. Why did Aziraphale have to go around fretting so much? This wasn’t exactly a new character trait. In fact, the first time they’d met, the angel had been worried, and while anxiety didn’t consume him, it did seem to pop up with some regularity.

_What if I’ve done the wrong thing?_

_Am I overindulging in human pleasures?_

_Why is the Almighty creating this flood—oh no, I mustn’t question the Great Plan…._

_Should I be chatting with a demon in a friendly fashion? What if someone sees?_

_This ‘Arrangement’ is terribly convenient, but it cannot possibly be the right thing to do._

_Oh, dear._

Six thousand years. Yes, Crowley had worried too, on occasion, but now he just felt _free_. He no longer feared that Heaven or Hell would punish them, or bother them anymore in any way, and he just wanted Aziraphale to feel that same release from anxiety. 

He wanted his friend to feel that same freedom.

Maybe all it would take was time. They both needed time, Crowley realized, to deal with this new world of theirs, one that didn’t include Heaven or Hell. They needed time to figure out how to live in new ways, and how to be _together_.

When he strolled back over to the sofa, he was surprised to find Aziraphale sitting on it instead of in his usual armchair. Not only that, he was _slumped_ against the cushions, looking very unlike his usual prim and proper self.

“Hey.” Crowley sat down beside him—close, though not too close. Not just yet. “Are you all right?”

Aziraphale looked at him, eyes wide, lower lip pushed out. “I’m sore.”

Crowley suppressed a grin, and a snarky comeback about the foolishness of doing hours of bending and stooping and carting heavy books around. “Sorry. Where does it hurt?”

“Mostly my back. And my neck and shoulders.” Aziraphale sighed. “And my arms.” He paused. “And my legs.”

“Idiot,” Crowley whispered, unable to hold that one back, though he said it with softness. “Shall I heal your whole body, then?” He reached towards him, intending to use a miraculous wave of his hand to soothe the aches.

“No!” Aziraphale straightened, holding both hands out. “Don’t use any miracles!”

“Oh, come on, Angel. _No one_ _is looking_.” He could tell when Heaven and Hell were watching them, after all. He’d made sure of it only that morning, on the park bench, before they switched bodies back. And as he focused his attention now, again, he could tell it was all clear.

Aziraphale shook his head. “Please don’t. I know you think it’s safe, but I’m just not _sure_. Please just give it more time. A few more days, perhaps?”

Crowley started to protest, but at the pleading look in his friend’s eyes, he stopped. “All right, Angel, I’ll try not to do any miracles unless absolutely necessary. It’ll be _fine_.”

Aziraphale let out a sigh. “Thank you.” Then he sank back against the cushions. “Ouch.” He rubbed his neck. “I had no idea moving all those books around would be so taxing.”

There were ways, Crowley knew, to relieve physical stress and strain—human ways that wouldn’t require any miracles. He had indulged in such techniques, now and then, simply for the pleasure of it. “I can do something about that.”

“You just said you would try not to use any miracles, and this hardly counts as ‘absolutely necessary’!”

“Not a miracle.” Crowley shifted closer. “Ever had a massage?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t ask you to—to—no, I certainly haven’t.” He suddenly scrunched further back as if trying to bury himself in the sofa.

Crowley smiled. “Skittish, are we? You’ve had no trouble adopting other human pleasures—eating, drinking—I’ve even known you to sleep once in a while. Hot baths. A good shave at the barber’s—”

“Yes, well, those are not…not quite as…as….” He seemed to stumble over his words.

“Close?” Crowley helped him out. “Not as _intimate?”_

Aziraphale merely nodded, his eyes wide. 

“Angel, we’ve been friends for an extraordinarily long time. We’ve groomed each other’s wings before. We’ve helped heal each other’s injuries. We’ve taken _care_ of each other. This is no different.” He gently lay a hand on his friend’s thigh. “Let me help you.”

“But it _is_ different.” Aziraphale looked down at Crowley’s hand. When he looked up again, Crowley saw a glistening of moisture in his eyes. “ _We’re_ different. _Everything_ has changed.”

Yes, everything had changed. They were _free_. But… did Aziraphale want what this new freedom offered? Surely he knew what it meant—that they could be as close as they wished, that they could be together as much as they wanted. But what _did_ Aziraphale want…to simply go on as friends? To stick with the same old pattern where the angel would tentatively let him step in closer, only to shy away again… _Crowley_ didn’t want that. He wanted more.

“Things have changed for the better, right?” _For Somebody’s sake, please say yes_.

Aziraphale had gone awfully quiet. Crowley didn’t dare move. He simply waited, knowing how nervous his friend had been in the past whenever they drew too close, and hoping this time the love between them would be allowed to see the light.

He couldn’t handle the silence. Crowley smiled as he quirked an eyebrow, striving to look nonchalant while feeling as if his world might collapse at any moment. And then he pressed just a little bit more. “ _We’re_ better, yes?” 

After several seconds that lasted forever, Aziraphale slowly placed his hand atop Crowley’s. He took a deep breath, and said, “So much happened so fast.”

“I know.” Crowley waited, hope trapped inside his heart, wanting desperately to be set free. He stopped trying to appear nonchalant. This was not the right time for pretense. 

Aziraphale sighed. “There were things that I said—”

“No.” Crowley intertwined their fingers. “Don’t. I don’t need that.” He didn’t want apologies or explanations. “I _know_ you, Angel. I know who you are, and I know what you believe, and what you _did_ believe in. It’s all right. I _understand_ you.” 

Aziraphale stared at their joined hands, then looked up. “I suppose you must do.” 

“Well, I try my best.” Crowley didn’t add, _you don’t always make it easy._ He tilted his head as he smiled softly, just a little upward twitch of the lips that he often used when he wanted to express a certain bemused affection for his friend. “I know things happened too fast.” 

“Keeping up with change isn’t exactly my strong suit,” Aziraphale replied. 

“No. You can’t undo sixty centuries in one week.” That was an unfathomable amount of time to spend obeying Heaven’s command. Hardly something to be lightly dismissed in a few impossibly short days. Yet that was what he wanted to do—that was what he was asking Aziraphale to do. Crowley wanted him to forget six thousand years of _hereditary enemies_ and _opposite sides_ , just like that. He wanted Aziraphale to step out fully from under Heaven’s shadow, to stop clinging to his fears, and to step into the light of friendship—the friendship that had been denied for far too long.

“It might be hard to do,” Crowley said, “and it might make you afraid, but I’m asking you to let the past go. There’s nothing more to fight against. We saved the world.” He squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. “Let’s save each other as well.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he said, “Yes.” He nodded. “You’re right. Everything _has_ changed for the better.” 

_Ah_. Crowley felt a release of tension from deep within as hope soared into the open. “Good.” Everything between them was _good_.

He reached with his free hand to touch Aziraphale’s shoulder. He pressed gently on it, kneading the taut muscles beneath the shirt. Time to get his friend to relax even more. “So, a little massage, then, to soothe those aches of yours?”

Aziraphale swallowed. “Very well. I’m willing to try…and if it turns out that I don’t like it—”

“Just tell me to stop. Anytime. Okay?” Crowley let go of their clasped hands to poke a playful finger at the angel’s vest. “Be easier without that.”

He stopped massaging Aziraphale’s shoulder so the vest could be taken off. “Right. Turn away—sit with your back to me.”

They shifted a bit so that Crowley could reach all of Aziraphale’s back, clad only in that shirt of heavenly blue that was so familiar. “I’ll start with your neck. Just relax.”

He put both hands on the angel’s neck, feeling for tight points. So tense—everywhere he touched he felt tension. Crowley began a slow caress over the whole area, and when he sensed a slight relaxation, he started a deeper touch, gently massaging from the top of Aziraphale’s neck downward along either side of the vertebrae, working in small circular motions, and kneading away the tightness as he went.

“Ah…” Aziraphale relaxed even more. “That does feel good, my dear.”

After several minutes, Crowley said, “Shall I move on to your shoulders? They need more work.”

“Please do.”

Crowley did so, stroking outward from Aziraphale’s neck, a hand on each shoulder, and he responded to every little sound the angel made, avoiding the areas that made him give out a little cry of discomfort, while focusing on the places that elicited small moans of pleasure. Once those areas of tautness loosened beneath his hands, Crowley returned to the tighter spots. “This might feel sore at first, but let me work into it, and it will feel better. I promise.”

“I trust you. Go on.”

Warmth flowed through Crowley at those words. “All right. You might want to take a few deep breaths.”

He did, and then Crowley started in again, ever so slowly working into the too-taut muscles, and while Aziraphale flinched a few times, he didn’t moan. And as the massage continued, he stopped flinching, and Crowley was able to knead the muscles more deeply, slowly smoothing the knotted places.

“This is wonderful, my dear.” Aziraphale rolled his head from side to side. “Ah, so much of the pain is gone. How do you know what to do—when did you learn about this?”

Crowley smiled to himself at a distant memory. “Paris, 1920s. I spent a lot of time over there going to jazz clubs. You would have hated it.” They hadn’t been on speaking terms at that time, so he’d had to find companionship elsewhere. “Made a few friends, so to speak.” Humans, of course, could never be _friends_ in the way he and Aziraphale were friends. “My muscles felt sore and tight after a night of dancing, and I mentioned it. Just as I was about to do a miracle to make the pain vanish, one of my new acquaintances offered to massage it away. And I quite liked it. Decided to learn a bit more about how it worked. People did seem to enjoy giving me lessons.” 

“So I should imagine.”

Crowley paused in his caresses. “What do you mean?”

“Really?” Aziraphale turned enough to give him a quick glance and a soft smile. “I’m sure you know how attractive your corporation happens to be.”

Truth to tell, he had noticed how humans seemed to approve of his appearance, and how much some of them wished to attract his attentions in a physical way. But Crowley had never heard _Aziraphale_ call him attractive before. “I see. Interesting.” He felt the same way about the angel, and realized he’d never said it before, either. “And do _you_ know how handsome your own body is?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “It’s not something I’ve ever thought about.”

“Well, it is.”

Crowley felt a slight tenseness across the angel’s upper back. But then it eased as Aziraphale said, “Is that something _you’ve_ thought about before?”

“Mm-hm.” Crowley drew his hands down either side of Aziraphale’s spine in long, flowing strokes. “In fact, this would be even easier if you took this shirt off….” Or was he going too fast again, as he had in the past….

Apparently not. Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the shirt disappeared.

Crowley blew out a pent-up breath. “Thank you.” Then he touched bare skin with his fingers, lightly at first, feeling his way along Aziraphale’s back until he found more muscle knots. “Ah. This is going to take a bit of work. More deep breaths, Angel.”

As Aziraphale complied, Crowley began working once more to ease the tightness, with firm, deep circular motions for a while, alternating with more of the longer, flowing strokes. Then he remembered something from that century-old experience, something he should have used from the start. He snapped his fingers to produce a bottle of massage oil, already warmed. _Absolutely necessary_.

He poured some onto his hands. “This will feel good—it’s an oil, and it will be warm. All right?”

“Fine.”

As Crowley rubbed the oil into still-taut muscles, he heard Aziraphale gasp. “Too warm?”

“No…my dear, it’s heavenly!”

“Good.” Crowley paused. “I think.” _Heavenly_ wasn’t exactly something he wanted to aim for, ever again. _Earthly_ delights were so much more to his liking. He poured more oil onto his palms and returned to the massage, rubbing away the tension, smoothing tight muscles with more circular strokes. He delighted in every moment, relishing the chance to touch his friend in such a loving way. The caresses were not only soothing in one direction, for the more he eased Aziraphale’s aches, the calmer he felt within. He felt the strain they’d been under so recently slowly ebb, and he felt a profound sense of comfort flow into the core of his being.

Aziraphale made little moaning sounds. They weren’t the same as the ones he’d made earlier, when he’d been in pain. These were sounds of release. 

Crowley finished kneading out all the knots, and then he ran his hands over the larger muscles. They felt so smooth, and he thoroughly enjoyed stroking the warm skin over and over, still slightly slick from the massage oil. 

Then he started pausing here and there to drum out a series of taps atop the muscles with his fingertips. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale let out a small cry. “That’s different. Quite nice.”

“Glad you approve.” Crowley worked his way up and down Aziraphale’s whole back in more of the sweeping strokes, pausing to do a bit more tapping, and then he finally stopped when he reached the shoulders. He gave them a light squeeze. “How’s that feel?”

Aziraphale shifted round, turning sideways to look at him. He reached up to touch Crowley’s face, running his fingers lightly along his jaw. “You should teach me. I want to return the favor someday.”

As that image took over his brain—of his Angel stroking his hands over his body—Crowley nearly imploded. _Oh, yes. Massage lessons are in our future without a doubt_. “Mmph,” he managed to blurt out.

“Oh, sorry.” Aziraphale smiled. “Did I break you, my dear?”

“Urmph.” Crowley grabbed hold of the angel’s hand and kissed the palm. “Broken. Completely.”

“I feel rather whole, myself.” Aziraphale’s face practically glowed. “What you just did—your touch—it was so tender, and so _healing_. All the anxiety is gone.” He gazed into Crowley’s eyes with something akin to wonder. “I can’t recall when I ever felt so at ease. Even at the start—from the very first touch—I felt as if an enormous weight had simply floated away.”

“You’re not exaggerating to make me feel good, are you?” But then Crowley remembered something. When he’d asked Aziraphale to remove his shirt, he’d done so—with a snap of his angelic fingers. He’d performed one of the miracles he had so fretted over earlier. Nor had he objected when Crowley used a miracle to get the oil. “Angel, you really are fine now, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. No more worrying. And not solely because of the massage, either.”

“No?” A delightful tingling flew up Crowley’s spine. “What else did I do?”

“You loved me, of course.” Aziraphale leaned in to kiss his temple, and then his cheek. “I felt it with every single touch.”

“’Course I did.” Crowley wrapped his arms round Aziraphale to pull him in closer, to place a light kiss on his lips. “Can’t help it. I’ve loved you forever.” He kissed Aziraphale’s forehead. “Well, mostly forever. Close enough. Didn’t know you forever. Wish I had. So, just since Eden, then. Which is a long time—”

“Stop babbling, my dear.” Aziraphale sank against him, his head on Crowley’s chest. He put his arm around Crowley’s waist. “It’s what you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it, all this time—to be able to say it.”

“Sort of.”

“What do you mean?”

“I said it all the time, Angel. Silently. Where no one could hear it. Said it in the dark of night, all alone. Every single night.”

He felt Aziraphale tighten against him. “Not true. _I_ could hear it. And I couldn’t dare risk telling you that. But I can tell you now. And I do know what you’re been waiting for all this time.”

Crowley closed his eyes against a threat of tears. “You do?”

“You’ve been waiting to hear me say it back.” 

He felt Aziraphale raise his head, and he felt soft lips brush against his closed eyes. “I love you, too, my dear.”

_All these years, Crowley had imagined hearing those words, and nothing in all his dreams came close to the reality of this moment. Dreams, no matter how vivid, could not rearrange his soul into a whole new being_. They had made each other whole. Crowley opened his eyes. “Not broken anymore, Angel.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I’m so glad to hear it.” He kissed Crowley’s cheek.

“You missed.” Crowley pointed to his own lips. “A bit lower, and a little to your left.”

“I believe I can find the right spot.” 

Aziraphale’s lips met Crowley’s in a caress which went on much longer than any other touch between them. It was a kiss that began in a hesitant fashion as an ancient fear briefly resurfaced—they weren’t _supposed_ to do this—yet six thousand years of restraint could, it turned out, be vanquished by one moment of pure love. And so the kiss lingered, and deepened with all the yearning of the years behind it, and with all the promise of the years to come. Somehow, in that touch, Crowley lost himself completely. Somehow, in that entrancing union, he felt both free and bound forever. It felt so strange and new, and yet so right. All because of an angel who—when Crowley wanted entrance to his heart—had let him in.

So the kiss lingered, and lengthened, and _freedom_ no longer felt like such an unsettled thing. When they parted, Crowley whispered, “I do love this new world.”

His Angel brushed soft fingers over Crowley’s lips. “I may never worry again.”

“You will.” Crowley took his hand and held it tightly. “And I’ll be here for you.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Perhaps I might fret a little now and then, just to have you soothe it all away.”

“Devious.”

“Just _enough_.” Aziraphale stretched his arms and legs. “Hm. There still seem to be a few aches in my limbs, here and there.”

Crowley grinned. “I can help with that.”

“A bit later, if you don’t mind. I’d like to simply lie here for a while first, in your arms.” He wrapped himself around Crowley once more.

“All right.” Crowley brushed his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. “I can wait.” 

“You always have, my dear. _Thank you_.”

And deep down, Crowley knew that he always would.

As they settled down more comfortably into their embrace, Crowley glanced at the bottle of Chauteauneuf-du-Pape, still sitting on the coffee table, unopened.

Oh, well. It wasn’t going anywhere. 

And neither was he.


End file.
